There's a Land That I Heard of Once in a Lullaby
by xSeshatx
Summary: {Oneshot} Foggy had to stop Matt from killing himself. Twice.


**Trigger Warning**

He wouldn't go as far as to say he had suicidal thoughts, but sometimes he had to admit he had suicidal tendencies. Martyr syndrome, Foggy would call it if he knew. Suicidal tendencies sounded much better (somehow) to Matt than suicidal thoughts. He'd rather be looked at as someone who took bigger risks than people should than be looked at as that one blind guy who actively wants to die. Neither were very good views of him but one was a lesser evil than the other, in his opinion. He wouldn't even admit he had suicidal thoughts to himself.

The thoughts started shortly after Stick up and disappeared from his life but he would never let the blame fall on Stick. The asshole would probably enjoy being the reason. No, the reason was more along the lines of Matt realizing just how much his life sucked and it just so happened to coincide with being abandoned. Again. The suicidal actions, honestly, didn't begin until he was in law school. After he started getting his life on track. Not an opportune time to hold onto a razor and consider the pros and cons of death, yet that's when it started anyways. Unless, of course, people would consider his previous actions as suicidal. The starving himself, the ache to find a bruise and press on it until it was no longer easy to keep hidden, how he'd scratch at himself with his nails. Those weren't suicidal actions, he didn't think. So his suicidal thoughts didn't really start until law school.

It was shockingly and frighteningly easy to obtain sleeping pills from his doctor. He never intended on using them for actual sleeping. Instead, he started hoarding them up, renewing the prescription the same time every month as he collected an arsenal of sleeping pills able to off him three times over. He considered taking one or two some nights when the noises would refuse to quiet but he fought off the urge. Those pills were for when he hit rock bottom. He would not allow himself the pleasure of resting peacefully through the night if he couldn't achieve it naturally. Medicine only clouded his senses, anyways, and not in a good way. There was a difference between the effects of alcohol and the effects of medication for him: alcohol would quiet the far away world and allow him to focus on what was around him, almost like a normal person (almost being the keyword; he could usually still hear conversations from multiple rooms over) whereas drugs would throw everything out of balance and make it difficult to tell when something was in front of him or three feet over.

After a full two and a half years of law school and rooming with the best friend he's ever had (really, how selfish could he be? He finally had a real. A real friend who actually enjoyed his company. He shouldn't have been depressed or had any suicidal "tendencies"), he came to the decision that he wanted to swallow those pills. There wasn't any logical reason for it. He wasn't feeling worse than usual, per say. He simply felt empty. Numb. It was just a thought that popped into his head and he felt like it was a good idea. It felt as if some outer being was blocking his mind. He had two separate thoughts, one being that it was a good idea and the more rational thought telling him that under no circumstance was he to swallow a single pill. The two different thoughts were not connecting, though, and he was forced to listen to only one.

Foggy had told him he wouldn't be back until the next morning. It wasn't unusual for him to stay out all night. Of course, he didn't do it all the time because, as mentioned, they were friends and Foggy enjoyed his company just like Matt enjoyed his. That didn't mean he didn't have a life outside of their little room, though. He had a girlfriend, Marci, who would often invite him over for the night every so often. This night happened to be a school night which, again, wasn't uncommon. They were all law students, after all.

Matt lost track of what time it was. His mind was so muddled that even his phone yelling at him '5:17 a.m.' wasn't enough to actually sink it into his brain. He dug into his stash of sleeping pills and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. He wasn't sure if he would need two bottles because there were a lot of sleeping pills but there was no possible way he'd manage to swallow them all. There was no last second thoughts or a rational voice cutting into his brain to beg him to reconsider. That was the benefit of being numb: he could get away with doing what he was about to do without his subconscious nagging him to quit.

The first ten pills went down easy. He took a moment to pause after ten, though, because he decided that if he was going to die then he at least wanted one last thing to eat. He was absolutely starving which was his usual state of hunger. He tortured himself with starvation. There was no more use for torture so he allowed himself to eat some leftover dinner Foggy's mom sent over for Matt after Foggy had an impromptu visit home (his sister had an outburst of loneliness and missed her brother. Foggy couldn't resist stopping by to visit, and their mom always sent Matt some leftovers). He also made the decision to play soft music in the background because he quite enjoyed the tranquility that came with lullaby music. And there had to be some irony to that because he never heard one lullaby as a kid. Didn't hear his first lullaby until he was in his senior year of undergrad.

The effects of the first ten pills started weighing him down before he finished his meal but he soldiered through. He can deal with sleep deprivation and exhaustion. As soon as he finished, he started swallowing more and more of the pills. He did end up on the second water bottle, after all. Once he really got in the rhythm of throwing the medicine in his mouth and swallowing, he couldn't stop. His mind was getting hazy, more fuzzy than it had been before the pills, and he welcomed it for once. He was properly blind and might as well had been deaf for all the good his ears were doing him at that moment. His ears didn't warn him when the door was being opened.

His ears started functioning as ears after the door came to a close. "Hey, Matt, you're awake?" he heard Foggy say just as he said everytime he came back and saw Matt awake. Foggy didn't know this but Matt never slept when he was gone. He barely slept when he was there but not once did he allow himself to fall asleep when he wasn't there. Each time Foggy came back he pretended to be surprised that Matt was still awake. Matt normally could sense it even if Foggy never commented on it.

"'m a'ake," Matt muttered, his back towards the door and the pills in his hands. He couldn't think clearly enough to hide them and instead held them tightly in his grip as if that would solve the issue.

There was something odd in Foggy's voice when he spoke next. "Matt? What're you doing?" he had asked, standing still near the door. Matt stayed quiet. "Matty?" Foggy was closer now. Matt hadn't felt him move. Then all of a sudden he was yanked to his feet and the pills were pulled from his grasp. "Oh, god, Matt. Did you take these?" He nodded. "How many? ... How many?!"

"Dunno," he said. He was so tired and he welcomed sleep. He let his head fall forward so he was resting it on Foggy's shoulder. It was the best place he could think to fall asleep at. He felt safe around Foggy.

The next few minutes were a blur for Matt. He went from resting his head on Foggy's shoulder to kneeling in front of the toilet while throwing up. He could vaguely picture Foggy's fingers forcing their way into his mouth but he couldn't figure out why. He blanked out again at a point because the next thing he knew there were more people in their room than ever before. He couldn't use his senses to identify them so, naturally, he thought they were intruders. Perhaps they were people sent by Stick. That had to be the reason.

"Matty, Matty, no," someone said, grabbing him by his shoulders as he tried to force himself to his feet. He was going to show Foggy he could fight but that wasn't a concern for him. If those people were sent by Stick then Foggy finding out about his abilities were the least of his concern. "Matt! Matt, stay down. I called an ambulance. The paramedics are taking you to the hospital, okay? I'll be right with you the entire time."

"Faahg-" He tried calling out Foggy's name but his voice was slurred.

People were touching him all over and it wasn't okay. He needed the hands to stop, to let go. They were grabbing at his wrists, his neck, his eyes. His eyes. He started panicking. "He's blind," Foggy was explaining. "No light perception. Matty, stop fighting, okay? Stop fighting. You're gonna be okay, I promise. I swear to you." He smelled salt. The first thing his enhanced senses were able to pick up once they started working again was salt. Tears? Who was crying? He sniffed again. He could smell the perfume Marci loved. It smelled awful but she liked it. There was some cologne hidden under that. It was Matt's cologne that he rarely wore but Foggy took an interest in. The person crying was Foggy. He reached his hand out, searching for his friend. He had to tell him it would be okay. He had to find out why he was crying. He felt a hand in his and recognized it as Foggy. Foggy's hands were soft, too soft. They were always incredibly soft and Matt never figured out why. "Matty? I'm here. God, Matt, I'm right here." That was the last thing he heard before he finally passed out.

He didn't come to slowly, subtly. He wasn't eased into consciousness. He was thrown into it with no seatbelt. He was given a pat on the back and a 'good luck out there' before being shoved out of the land of the sleeping and into the land of the waking. The gasps left his body without their permission. He was choking. He was drowning. He was suffering through every form of suffocation all at once and it took everything in him not to scream (and the lack of air made that particularly difficult, to be honest). But through the panicked breathing he was able to feel a hand in his and hear a voice talking to him. It took every ounce of concentration to hear what the voice was saying. "Deep breaths, Matty, you're okay. You're in the hospital. You're not alone. I'm right here. Slowly, Matt. You're safe."

Of course it was Foggy. He forced himself to breathe in time with Foggy and he squeezed his hand like a lifeline. "What happened?" he forced out in between breaths, knowing it was much too soon to waste precious air like that but needing to fill in the blanks just as desperately.

"We can talk about that later," Foggy answered and now one hand was in his hair, brushing it back. And Matt remembered what happened. What he did. Or, rather, what he failed to do. "Hey, hey, hey, stop that, buddy. Don't work yourself up into another panic attack." He didn't understand what Foggy meant by that but then he realized how quickly his breaths were coming in again.

It took even longer the second time but his breaths started coming out normal. Foggy didn't let go out of hand or move his hand out of his hair, though. "How much class have I missed?" Matt eventually asked, letting himself melt down into his bed.

A choked laugh escaped Foggy's throat but Matt heard how fast his heartbeat was going in comparison to a few minutes ago (and it was fast even then). "That's what you're concerned about? Fucking school?" Now that Matt heard him speak it was safe to assume the previous laughter had been more hysterical than anything. "Matty, you...You just...And you're asking about class?" He was crying. Matt heard him cry before, multiple times. Stress crying, drunk crying, relationship crying, and even family problems crying. But this crying only seemed to hurt Matt's heart the most.

"You're crying," Matt breathed out. Not the best thing he could have managed to say but considering how his brain was still functioning at about half he could hardly be blamed for the lack of words.

"Why didn't you - you talk to me?" The hands were gone from his body and it was his turn to cry. He might have forgotten that he didn't have his glasses on so Foggy was able to see the tears immediately with him having no chance to hide them. Foggy was mad at him and he could not handle that. "No, shit, don't cry." Foggy's voice was pleading and he grabbed Matt's hand again. "Don't cry. I'm not mad, I promise you I am not mad." The heart monitor was beeping like crazy, probably giving away the fear he was feeling. He couldn't handle angry Foggy at the moment.

"What-" He licked his lips, trying to get some moisture back into them. "What day is it?"

"It's still Thursday," Foggy answered and Matt could hear him wiping his tears away. "You've been sleeping off and on all day. You should probably be sleeping now but this is the most coherent you've been since I saw you yesterday."

"'m sorry."

Foggy's hand squeezed his tightly and he mirrored the gesture. "Don't apologize, okay? No apologies. I want an explanation. Not right now, don't give me that look. We will talk about this, Matty. Me and you are going to sit down and talk about this and we are gonna work through it. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure I need intense therapy after this. Knock that guilty look off of your face, Murdock, I said no apologies and that guilty look counts." Foggy always had talked a lot but he talked even more so when he was anxious. Judging by the erratic beating of his heart, he was as anxious as he could have been without joining Matt in panic attacks. "We'll talk. Soon."

"How long do I have to stay here?"

"48 hours," Foggy answered immediately as if he was just waiting for the question to be asked. It was no secret that Matt hated hospitals. He despised them. He avoided them at all costs. When he slid on ice and sprained his wrist he just bought a sling from the store and went on with his life because he'd rather do that than wait at the hospital just to get the same end result. "They gotta, uh, watch you for 48 hours now that you're awake. Then they'll decide if you're...safe enough to come home."

"We're lawyers. Or, we will be. Can we argue 48 hours from point of admission?"

He felt Foggy tense and immediately knew he did not say the right thing. "You are staying here for as long as they deem necessary, Matt," he said, his voice holding no objections. "48 hours from whenever they decide to start the countdown. If they say you need to stay here for up to fifteen days, you will stay here for up to fifteen days. Involuntarily if they have to. Please don't make it difficult."

The stupid heart monitor starting beeping again, giving away how quick his heart started beeping. "I don't mean to be difficult," he said softly. "I didn't mean for this to happen, either. I...I'm sorry, Foggy. I need you to know how sorry I am. I know you said no apologies, but I am so, so-" He was crying again but the crying felt less painful than the memory of how empty he felt hours before. Pain was not good but he was able to deal with this pain. Feeling no pain still managed to hurt more than the sadness he was feeling at that moment. Foggy reached out and hugged him, squeezing him tightly and crying into his hair. Scratch everything he just said. What hurt the most out of that entire experience was the sound that came out of Foggy's mouth as he cried. He had never heard anything so heartbreaking before.

(He was released after the 48 hours and was back in class for Monday. Him and Foggy did have that very long and uncomfortable talk about feelings but he made it through with no tears. The same couldn't be said for Foggy.)

The second time he went over the edge was later on in his life. Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law. They made a name for themselves. Him, Foggy, and then Karen. Things were...good, again. Foggy found out about the masked vigilante, the man in the mask, the devil of Hell's Kitchen. Daredevil. It was rough for a while but they were getting back to it. They talked, they learned to manage. Foggy accepted what Matt did. He didn't approve but he had started to keep quiet on those particular opinions. He wouldn't start yelling at Matt all the time, telling him that he wasn't above the law. He couldn't say he fully understood why Matt did what he did but they were managing. Matt improved his fighting skills, learned to leave some of what Stick told him in the past to properly move on and harness his abilities in a way that suited him more than it suited Stick. He was more careful. He was less quick to jump head first into danger. Things were going great by all standards.

And yet he hit a cloud of fog. Again.

It hit him in a different way the second time around. Whereas the first he planned for literal months by hoarding sleeping pills, the second time he was just bone tired and depressed and it did not take him anywhere near the same amount of time to reach his breaking. He actually felt the depression sinking him. Getting out of bed was a challenge. Monday, the first day, wasn't too hard. He snoozed his alarm twice but got up. Sure, he skipped breakfast, but he did that all the time. He didn't always have the time or food for breakfast (He wasn't skipping meals again like he did in school. And sure, sometimes he missed lunch and dinner, too, but he was a busy guy). The second day he was a few minutes late to work. The third day he was an hour late. The fourth day he didn't make it in until after lunch. The fifth day Foggy was pounding on his door after he got out of work because Matt did not show up.

He let Foggy in, claimed to be feeling under the weather, and apologized for not giving him a heads up. Foggy seemed convinced enough after thoroughly checking for injuries and feeling his forehead. Luckily for him, his forehead felt warm enough to fool his friend and then he was alone once more after a, "Rest up, buddy, and let me know if you need anything. And no Daredeviling!" Out of curiosity, he checked his temperature. He didn't have a fever, but he wasn't about to call Foggy and let him know that information.

Not once did he leave his apartment that weekend. He didn't go out as Daredevil, he didn't go pick up his usual Thai food, and he didn't make any effort into going to the office to catch up on his missed work. Foggy had called him a few times but he had been asleep for all of those. He'd send short messages, assuring his friend he was still alive and was just sleeping the illness away. By Sunday, he was exhausted. He had slept the majority of the weekend away and he was just done. There was nothing left for him, he knew. He could go out as Daredevil, risk his friendship with Foggy, lie more to Karen, and still end up causing more harm to the city than good. He could have hung up his Daredevil suit, said goodbye to a major part of himself, and watch the city tear itself to shreds. He could leave the firm, leave his friends behind, and take up Daredevil full time. That was the worst option yet, but none of them were happy thoughts. He didn't want his future to be either of those.

He wasn't sure if he wanted a future.

His approach the second time around wasn't to use pills again because, obviously, that wasn't going to work. It slowed his senses down too much the last time and allowed him to be caught by Foggy. No, he'd have to try something different. He didn't have quick access to a gun and the thought of jumping to some tall building (he'd be damned if he jumped from his own building. He knew some of the people who lived there and he didn't want to put them through that) only exhausted him further. He could hang himself but the thought of someone finding his swinging body almost caused him pain. Drowning himself was an option but he knew his instincts would make that more difficult. The only option left that he could think of was slitting his wrists. Messy but the best option he had. So he took apart one of his razors.

Again, his mind sorta blanked. He knew what was happening around him for a moment but it was all too much to truly focus on. Everything mixed in on each other and it normally would have been overwhelming had he been capable of feeling anything at the present moment. He grabbed his razor, sat on the floor of the bathroom, and didn't hesitate. He held out of arm and started at his wrist before dragging it up towards his elbow. Part of his brain knew that he was too far gone or else he would have felt some sort of pain but it was like all the pain receptors in his body just turned off. He switched hands and went to do the same on the other side before he, once again, was snuck up on by Foggy. It was always Foggy. Foggy, who caught him in his two suicide attempts. Foggy, who made life more manageable. Foggy, who left him but came back because they were family no matter what.

"Matty, shit, no, wait," he heard Foggy say. He didn't hear him come in, didn't hear him probably call out to see if Matt was there. He didn't hear the heartbeat, smell the scent that was without a doubt Foggy. When his mind and pain receptors shut off, so did his enhanced senses. The razor was ripped from his hands and thrown to the floor before he felt some cloth stick to his bleeding arm. Foggy had grabbed his other arm and wrapped it around his neck so they could stand together. "Let's get you on the couch, okay, buddy? We'll go sit down, I'll stitch you up, and we can talk about this. Just like last time." Foggy was crying. Just like last time.

"'s okay," Matt mumbled out, not feeling the same drowsiness as he had last time. "You don't gotta help me. I'm okay. We're okay. You don't have to cry. I don't mean to make you cry."

"You stupid, amazing, wonderful idiot," Foggy said, crying even more. He sat Matt on the couch before resting his hands on either side of Matt's face. "You are family, Matty. Family. We're family and you're my best friend and I love you. And loving someone makes it easier to hurt. We are going to hurt each other. We are going to hurt because of each other. I've made you cry before, too. But it's okay because we love each other and sometimes crying and hurting just reminds us of that. I gotta stitch you up, okay? I took some classes and I know how to stitch and I am going to give you the most perfect stitches you've ever had. And we'll talk."

"I don't wanna talk," Matt said before he thought about what he was about to say. Saying something like that and refusing to talk about his issues would only make Foggy cry more and he didn't want to make Foggy cry. His brain had gone to mush but he knew that much.

"Tough shit because I want to talk so we are going to talk." He knew Foggy's voice didn't mean to come out as rough and angry as it did. He reached out, taking Foggy by surprise as he rested his hand over his chest where his heart was. He couldn't hear it but he could feel it beneath his hands. Erratic, scared, but not angry. No anger.

His eyes were suddenly too heavy to keep open and he let them shut for a moment before forcing them open again. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, lowering his head to avoid staring right at Foggy with unseeing eyes. "I know you don't like when I listen to your heart. But I - I can't focus on anything right now. I can't hear your heart, I can't... I need to feel something or hear something or smell something. I feel..." He hesitated, unsure of why he was talking so much when he knew for a fact he didn't want to talk at all. "I feel trapped in my mind right now and I-I can't get out."

Foggy took him by surprise, then, by grabbing Matt's other hand and placing it on Foggy's cheek. He felt his eyes widen and he raised his head up again. "If this calms you down, Matt, you do it," he said. "You do whatever you need to focus. To get out of your mind. But now I need to stitch you up. You are bleeding, bad. I'm no expert so I need all the time I can get. Will you be okay if I let go so I can work on this? You do whatever you need to do, but I need to work."

"Okay," Matt breathed out. "Okay."

As soon as Foggy's hands started working to stitch him up, Matt let his head fall back against the couch and close his eyes. His hand took hold of Foggy's shirt over his heart. He wasn't touching his skin but he could still feel his heartbeat. That meant his senses were starting to work properly again, slowly. It was calming. He hadn't realized he wasn't calm before. The fog was preventing that. But now he felt his body actively calm down and he started dozing. He was almost out when he heard his phone start ringing. It was Karen. He jumped in surprise before making an effort to reach for it. He didn't realize it was nowhere near him. "You can call her back later, Matt," Foggy said, pushing him gently so he was laying back against the couch again. "She was calling you all day before she called me. She was worried. I promised her I'd call her as soon as I finished checking on you. What do you want me to tell her? I'll leave it up to you. I hate lying to her, but this...this isn't the same thing as Daredevil. This is you. What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. I don't want her to know, but... Foggy, can we tell her about...you know." He gestured to himself with his hand, making Foggy grab it roughly and pull it back down. Right, stitches.

"Today? Buddy, that's hell of a lot of, well, you're not okay. That's a deep conversation to have on top of all of this. Maybe you should wait."

Matt needed to learn how to control his mouth when his mind was fuzzy because he was saying all kinds of things he didn't mean to say at all. "If something happens to me, I don't want you to have to break the news to her. And I don't want her to find out like you did. I screwed up with you and I know we'll never be the same again. I know that." He took a deep breath, refusing to let his eyes water. "I'd take it all back if I could. Save you that pain. But I can't. So I want to save Karen that pain. And I want to save you the pain of having to tell her if I..." He let go of Foggy's shoulder, bringing that hand up to his head to imitate a gunshot.

"Stop." Foggy's voice was scared. It was loud, his breathing was quick, and he was desperate. "Stop talking like that. This isn't gonna happen again. Not again. The first time was bad enough. This is worse. We aren't doing this again. You'll be fine. I swear to god, Matt, I will help you until you're okay and don't need my help anymore. And then I'll still help you because, dammit, you're my best friend and I need you here with me."

"Please don't send me back to the hospital like last time. Everybody was too fake and it was so hard to keep a straight face. I can't be trapped again like that."

"I won't send you there, Matt." He didn't need to hear his heart to know that was the truth. He knew his best friend enough to not always rely on the enhanced senses. "But - But this isn't okay. This is so not okay. I can't have you try this again... You haven't tried since school, have you?"

"No," Matt answered truthfully. "Never considered it. I don't know why I did it this time. Or last time. My brain just..."

"You planned for months, Matty. You can't tell me last time was just a spur of the moment ordeal."

"I never thought about it. I just started getting the pills and then I took them. I didn't think about it. It just happened. And this time...I can't feel you stitching me. I didn't feel what I did. It's like my brain just turns off and I move automatically with no real though." He was trying to put his experience into words but it was failing. He wanted to convince Foggy that since he didn't really think about it then there was nothing to worry about, but also convincing him that he went on autopilot to do it was probably just as bad. Maybe even worse. He took a deep breath and tried again. "I don't..." So much for trying again.

He could feel Foggy's hands start to shake for a moment before they evened themselves out. It was probably a conscious effort of Foggy to control the shaking. Couldn't shake like that while stitching up a deep cut. "I think you need to start taking medicine. Antidepressants, you know? Get this whole thing under control. I should have made you last time you tried but your whole kicked puppy look...I won't let it work this time, Matty. I know I can't force you but that doesn't mean I can't pester you about it until you agree."

"Medicine messes with my head, Foggy. It'd be more dangerous."

"Argue your point, Matt, because honestly, I don't think there is anything more dangerous than your mind shutting off while you try to-" He didn't finish the statement but there wasn't exactly an issue in figuring out what he was going to say.

"I won't stop being Daredevil, Fog. With medicine or without it. I know you hate it and I appreciate you keeping your thoughts on it under wraps, but-"

"What does your other persona have to do with taking antidepressants?" His voice sounded so done and Matt almost decided to agree just so he didn't have to hear that voice again.

"I told you; medicine messes with my head. They had me on antidepressants back at the orphanage. Around the time Sti-" His voice caught in his throat. Probably not a good time to say his name. "-my teacher left, one of the sisters took it upon herself to take me to a therapist. A few weeks later, I was on a prescription antidepressant. In secret, of course. The rest of the sisters wouldn't have approved. And - and it turned my mind off. That's the best way I can describe it. I couldn't focus on anything. I was always walking into things that I never ran into before, even before my training to control my senses. Everything echoed in my head."

"I'm really not following, buddy. I don't think I know enough about your abilities to understand." There was an underlying demand. Foggy wanted Matt to tell him more about what he could do. He mentioned bits and pieces throughout the few months Foggy knew about Daredevil but they tried to stay away from the topic. It was best for their friendship if they discussed his nightly activities as little as possible. It actually made Matt a little...less numb that Foggy was willing to hear more about it.

"I can give you a shortened version now and a longer one later when I'm not, you know." He made a vague gesture with his free hand to his face. "I don't know how much of this conversation I'll actually remember tomorrow, is what I'm saying. You know I can hear and smell and taste things nobody else can, like how I can tell what you ate several days ago. Not right now, though. Nothing seems to be working up here." He poked the side of his head a few times. "I can get an understanding of where everything is based off of the vibrations in the room, the temperature, the way the air splits around objects. I can normally do all of that without focusing too hard, especially if I already have a vague sense of my surroundings. You know how we just bought a new chair for Karen after you spilled-"

"For the last time, Murdock, you threw something at me and caused me to spill my coffee." There was no menace in his voice. It felt a little bit more relaxed than before. A little more normal. Normal was good. Matt didn't realize until then that Foggy had finished stitching him up and was instead wrapping his arm in gauze.

"Yeah, yeah. Details. Anyways, when I walked into the office the other day I could feel the new chair there without me having to concentrate. Because that's such a familiar place for me, I could tell that something was out of place. At the orphanage, I knew the lay out of the place. Probably just as well as I know the layout of my apartment now. There was no logical excuse for me to run into things, especially since nothing had been rearranged. My reaction time was slower. I couldn't anticipate the behavior of the kids at school. I was tripped more times during those few months I was on the medicine than ever before. Admit it, even if you didn't know about my abilities, you'd be worried if I suddenly walked into your apartment and banged my knee on your table. That's what would happen if I started taking medicine. And I still wouldn't stop being Daredevil."

Foggy's hand was suddenly in his and he squeezed. "You make a compelling argument, Matty, but...But this isn't okay. Twice this has happened. I'd be fooling myself if I said it wouldn't happen a third." Matt would be fooling himself, too. He decided not to say that part out loud. It was about time he started gaining control of his mouth again. "When we graduated and got our own apartments, even though years had gone by since your attempt, I was still terrified I'd walk in here one day and see you tried again. And didn't fail. I could keep a better eye on you when we lived together, but this was completely different. You showed up late to Landman and Zack one time. Only one time. And that one time was enough to send me running to your apartment to make sure you were okay just to find out you broke your phone. It scared me. I'm scared for you. This is a real fear."

"I don't mean for you to worry about me, Foggy," Matt whispered, doing his best to assume where Foggy's eyes were. He was pretty sure he was still off by a few inches.

"I know, Matt. God, I know."

The two of them sat in silence for a few more minutes before Matt heard his phone announce that Karen was yet again calling. "We should call her back. She worries about us almost as much as you worry about me."

"I'll ask you again, now that you're more coherent. What do you want me to tell her?"

The words were out of his mouth and, surprisingly, he didn't regret them. "Invite her over. We'll tell her everything."


End file.
